


On the Joys and Pain of a Month in Late Spring

by punkrockgaia



Series: The Cruelest Month [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, M/M, dubcon, heat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil's in heat and Earl's conflicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VidenteFernandez](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=VidenteFernandez).
  * Inspired by [The Ambivalence of May](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132728) by [M_Moonshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Moonshade/pseuds/M_Moonshade). 



> This is a birthday present for VidenteFernandez (videntefernandez.tumblr.com), based on "The Ambivalence of May" by M_Moonshade.

**April 29**  
Earl was in the Ralphs picking up some last-minute supplies when he bumped into Cecil, who was doing the same. 

Earl's cart contained beef jerky, a snakebite kit (of course he already had one, but it never hurt to have a spare), and several economy-sized bottles of SPF 100 sunscreen (although with his complexion he might have been better off just applying white latex paint to any exposed skin). 

Cecil's cart contained some bottles, too, five of the largest bottles of lube Earl had ever seen. And what appeared to be the entire stock of the "Family Planning" aisle. And four cartons of cigarettes. And two jars of crunchy peanut butter.

Cecil saw him staring and blushed. "Oh, oh, n-no," he stammered, waving his hands in front of him. "The peanut butter's not for anything kinky. I just like peanut butter. And it's easy to eat while I'm... distracted."

It amazed Earl that Cecil still got so flustered. It wasn't like everyone in town above the age of consent didn't know about his little... May problem already. It was actually kind of adorable. For a moment, he considered changing plans.

_No, Earl,_ he thought to himself. _Not this year. You need to do this. This is going to be good for everyone._

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I uh, I remember that you like it, silly. I've only known you your whole life."

Cecil gave him a brief, awkward smile, then looked away, left hand rubbing absently at his right forearm, a pink tongue-tip flickering briefly between anxious lips. He was getting antsy already. Definitely time to get out of town. "Yeah, right, right. You all set for your camping trip?"

"I think so. Hey, listen, Cee. The timing, uh, it doesn't have anything to do with you. It was just when I could get away."

Cecil looked at him and chuckled. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better, Earl, but you don't have to lie. I understand..."

"Cecil --"

"No, really, don't worry. It's for the best. I'll try to leave you alone."

"Well, I won't have my phone with me until I get back, that's all. No chargers in the sand wastes, you know? I hope -- I hope everything goes okay for you."

Cecil smiled sadly, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Earl smelled his familiar scent (honey; the air just after a barrage of firecrackers) and his heart swelled painfully in his chest. "Thank you," he whispered. "See you in June." 

"See you." Earl watched breathlessly as Cecil turned and walked away. "Hey, Cecil, wait."

Cecil turned and looked at him, hope briefly flitting across his features. "Yes?"

"Don't get dehydrated. You know how you forget to take care of yourself."

Cecil winced for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, I'll pick up some Gatorade or something." 

Earl rolled his eyes. "It's basically soda, Cecil. Water's all you need. Have a good month."

**April 30**  
Earl shrugged his pack off of sore shoulders. He'd been hiking since the morning, and now the brutal sun was beginning to set, painting the sky with a luminous paintbrush of orange, pink and purple. It was time for a break. 

He unstrapped his sleeping bag from the bottom of the pack and rolled it out on the ground. At least he didn't need to take the time to set up a tent -- he didn't have one. The purpose of this whole trip, other than putting some fresh air between himself and Cecil, was to test his wilderness survival skills. The plan was to live wild for the entire month. That meant no tent, no more food than he could carry on his back, no more water than fit in his canteen. He'd need to forage for everything else out in the desert. 

He felt more at peace than he had in ages. 

He couldn't help but suspect that his comfortable city life was making him soft. In a way, it was good that Cecil didn't want him for any sort of a regular gig -- he didn't need to start _depending_ on him. The first thing a Scoutmaster was was self-reliant.

He lay back on the sleeping bag and stared up at the night sky. Yes. It was a good thing, a very good thing. One of these days he'd get the paperwork together and get permission from City Council to just bug out once and for all. He'd build a little cabin far out in the dunes and live in the quiet, just him and the scorpions and the jackalopes. And Cecil, maybe. He'd give him one final chance to come to his senses and come with. If he didn't take it? Well, that would be that. He'd live alone. 

He wouldn't bring a radio. 

He stretched, then untied his boots, unzipped his sleeping bag, and settled in for the night. Yep, this was going to be great.

**May 14**  
Earl had never been more miserable. 

It wasn't the physical discomfort, though he was certainly uncomfortable. He'd run out of sunscreen earlier in the week, and his skin had burned a vivid red. He'd started spending more time in his lean-to, and the burn had faded and the pain had lessened, but now he was peeling and the itching was just this side of madness-inducing. He'd been mostly eating lizards and toads, and his water source was a trickle in an otherwise dry stream bed that tasted like sulfur and coyote piss. 

All of that was bearable. What weren't bearable were his thoughts.

He thought about Cecil constantly. Separation had never been this bad before. Maybe he'd let himself get too attached, or maybe it was what he knew Cecil was going through back in the city. Whatever it was, it was a constant ache. 

During the day, he was distracted. Whether he was digging for grubs or sifting sand from his drinking water using his kerchief, Cecil's voice and face were never far from his mind.

At night, it was worse. He and Cecil had been together so many times like this, out in the big wide-open spaces of the desert. He swore that he could feel Cecil's breath on his skin, his hands on his back, his legs around his waist. 

God, he was getting so _tired_ of jerking off.

He resisted as long as he could, but in the end it was no use. If he was being honest with himself (the second thing a Scoutmaster was), he'd always known that this was how it would end up. He waited until the cool of the evening, when the sun was at his back, then shouldered his pack and began the long, arduous hike to the city.


	2. Chapter 2

**May 15, early morning**  
Earl unlocked the door to his apartment, then sat down on the nearest chair. He untied his boots and pulled them off, sending a cascade of sand and small rocks down onto the linoleum tile. He stood and wearily went to the kitchen for the broom and dustpan. He was tired after a long six-hour hike, but that was no excuse for being slovenly. That was most definitely **not** something a Scoutmaster was. 

He came back into the living room, swept up the sand and the gravel, and deposited it in the nearest wastepaper basket. He looked down into the otherwise-empty bag and saw the debris resting in the bottom. Untidy. Might as well take that out to the cans. 

He bundled up the bag, went outside and threw it into the cans by the garage, then went back in and replaced the bag, fussing over it until it sat just right. He stood there for a moment, staring at it blankly. 

_That bathroom tile could use some regrouting --_ No. No. There were no more little chores to take care of. He couldn't put things off any longer. Time to face it. 

He picked up his phone and switched it on. It began to buzz wildly with message notifications, and didn't stop for what had to be five minutes. Finally it got done vibrating and bleeping, and he was able to actually see who had messaged him.

There was a message from his mother, written entirely in text speak, wishing him luck on his camping trip. There were three spam messages inviting him to click a link and "meet hot singles in your area!" 

There were at least a hundred messages from Cecil, divided between texts and voicemails.

The texts started out coherently enough, then phased into blatant come-ons, then into outright begging, then into random gibberish. The last one just read "please."

The voicemails followed a similar pattern, though from the outset Cecil sounded desperate. By the time the mailbox ran out of room, he was just leaving messages of raspy, hoarse breathing. That had been five days earlier. Gods, this was a bad one. 

Earl set his phone down on the end table and sighed. He tried to tell himself that he wouldn't go over to Cecil's place, but what choice did he really have? Cecil needed him. For all he knew, Cecil was in danger, dehydrated, starving, exhausted. There was no reason to think that they were going to do anything too intimate. He'd just go over, check on him, get him whatever he needed, and be on his way. What were best friends for?

He sat down on the chair again and pulled his boots back onto aching feet, then grabbed his keys. He went out the front door, climbed into his old, beat-up pickup truck, started the engine, and turned his wheels toward Cecil's apartment. 

It wasn't a far drive; Cecil lived just on the other side of downtown, in a big old house that had been converted to an apartment building. The streets were sleeping quietly in the early morning hush. Earl noted with interest that the "For Rent" sign had been taken down on the building next to Big Rico's. It was always a welcome sight -- new businesses meant new sponsors to hit up for various Scout-related functions. He filed the information away for later. 

As he parallel-parked out front of Cecil's building, Earl noted that his hands were shaking and his palms were sweating. _Calm down, Harlan,_ he chided himself. Nothing was going to happen. He was just going to go up there, make sure Cecil was okay, then go home. Nothing more.

He let himself in through the front door of the building, then walked up the stairs to the second floor. As he was turning the corner in the long, strangely-shaped hallway, he heard a voice and froze. He crept to the corner and peered around it.

A muscular man dressed up in a deliveryman costume straight out of a porn (short, tight shorts, tight shirt unbuttoned to the navel, biceps bulging from ripped sleeves) lounged against the wall, a small box in one hand, a cell phone in the other, pressed to his ear.

"Yeah, I'm here right now... Yeah." He laughed. "Honest to Void, I shouldn't have bothered renting the costume. I didn't need an excuse! I could have pretty much just shown up and said 'I'm here to fuck,' from what I hear." He paused while the other person talked. "Yeah, yeah, but I wasn't going to _wait in line_ , you know? He was busy pulling a train on three hooded figures. So I told him I'd come back later with a _special delivery_ for him. I think he took me literally." Another pause. "Yeah, not too bright, is he? But, I mean, who cares? He's pretty and he's gonna have his mouth full anyway."

Earl felt his face grow hot and his hands clench into fists. He set his mouth into a hard line and strode around the corner. The jerk in the costume looked over at him and rolled his eyes.

"Gary, I gotta go. Yeah, I'll call you later. Some fucking joker just showed up." He hung up his phone and glared at Earl. "You're gonna wait your turn, Pal. I was here first."

"I'm not your pal, Buddy. And there's no 'turns.' What do you think this is, fun and games?" He stepped toward the man until they were chest-to-chest. Well, **almost** chest-to-chest. Chest-to-upper-abdomen. The "deliveryman" was quite a bit taller than Earl.

"I'm not your buddy, Friend. And I don't know about games, but if it's not fun, you're doing it wrong."

"I'm not your friend, uh, Boopsie." Earl faltered a minute. He'd gotten his Macho Posturing badge, but it had been an awful struggle. He shook his head and moved on. "And it might be fun for you, but do you think it's fun for him? He doesn't have any control over himself!"

The other man grinned smugly. "Oh, I don't know, it sounded like he was having a whole lotta fun this afternoon. You could hear him from the front porch." He gave Earl a little shove. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm not going to be kept from my 'appointed rounds' by some Boy Scout."

And that's when Earl floored him with a haymaker to the jaw.

He stood, panting, over the man's unconscious form for a moment. "That's Scoutmaster Earl Harlan to you, Sir, and I'll thank you not to misappropriate the motto of the United States Postal Service." He stepped over him and unlocked the door to Cecil's apartment. He went inside and shut the door behind him.

The atmosphere in the living room was just this side of oppressive. The air in Night Vale was generally dry and unobtrusive, but inside the apartment it was heavy, thick with cigarette smoke and humid with pheromones. A dim lamp burned in the corner, and the room was filled with soft panting. 

"Earl," Cecil gasped. Earl's eyes adjusted to the gloom. As the shadows resolved into distinct shapes, he grew dizzy at the sight before him.

Cecil was on his back on his old Ikea sofa. He was dressed for work, or rather, partially-dressed. His lavender oxford shirt was unbuttoned and his tie was undone. A dusting of silver-white hair ghosted over his pectoral muscles, trailing downward and becoming denser toward his navel, forming a narrow line of fluff that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers. The fly of his dress slacks was unbuttoned and unzipped. All three of his eyes (dark circles ringing them underneath like malevolent crescent moons) were squeezed tightly-shut, and his hands wandered over his bared torso. 

He was _very_ aroused.

Earl bit his lip, then took a deep breath for strength. "How did you know it was me?" he croaked through a tight throat.

Cecil shuddered. "You don't think I can **feel** you?" He opened his eyes and looked toward Earl. "I was beginning to think that you wouldn't come." Apparently that was the wrong choice of words, as he groaned and squirmed, pressing both palms to the bulge in his trousers. 

Earl felt himself drawn to the sofa as if pulled by powerful magnets. He dropped to his knees in front of his writhing friend and grasped his wrists, pulling his hands to safer, less distracting territory. He interlaced his pale, freckled fingers in-between Cecil's longer, more slender digits, the same luminous tan as the dunes in the golden hour. Cecil whimpered slightly at the loss of friction.

"I'm here to help, Cee."

Cecil moaned in relief and turned hungrily toward Earl, trying to pull him in for a kiss. Earl resisted, pulling away. 

"No, not like that. Let me get you a glass of water, something to eat, okay?"

Cecil flopped back on the cushions, frustrated. "That's **not** what I need, Earl. You know what I need."

Earl ignored him, brushing an errant lock of hair from Cecil's forehead. Cecil shuddered from the touch, tongue snaking out from between his dry, chapped lips. Earl felt the blood rush away from his head. He'd have to be very careful. 

"How'd it get so bad this time? You weren't like this last year."

Cecil groaned. "I don't know. I've had so many nice visitors..." He trailed off, but the rising flush on his face told Earl all he'd needed to know about the nature of these "visitors." Cecil always seemed to forget from one year to the next (maybe because he tended to spend the time in a hormonal haze), but in May, sex for him was like heroin to a junkie. Rather than bringing any sort of lasting relief, more always led to more and more. He probably couldn't stand going without entirely, but the smart thing was to pace it out as much as he could, not jump headfirst into an orgy.

Earl cursed himself. He'd been very short-sighted and selfish by leaving. If he'd been here, he could have reminded Cecil to take things slow. He could have sat outside the front door with a shotgun to scare away gentlemen callers. He could have --

He was shaken from his reverie by strong hands jerking away from his and grasping the back of his head, pulling him down into a kiss before he could react. (Cecil had always been so _fast_.) Earl started to fight, to pull away, but the growing pool of liquid fire in his belly argued otherwise. Cecil broke from his lips and began to plant desperate little kisses along his jawline, working backward, breathing static crackles and taffy into his ear canal.

"Please, please, Earl, please. Masters of us all, I need you so badly, please... You're the only one who can help me I want you I need you oh Earl."

A strangled sound, the last vestige of his self-control, escaped Earl's lips and was gone. He was lost. He leaned in and smashed his lips to Cecil's, hands roaming over his quivering body. 

On his most rational days, Cecil loved to be touched. Even though they were supposedly "just friends," Earl had spent many an agonizingly happy afternoon watching television and petting his "friend" like an overlarge housecat, Cecil cooing with contentment as Earl's fingers combed through his hair or kneaded his shoulders. He never tired of it, and Earl noticed that he became irritable and volatile when he hadn't been touched by anyone in a while. During May, though, touch became electric for him. During May, Cecil could actually reach climax from having his back scratched. He would know. He'd been there. 

This May was no different. Every brush of his fingertips forced explosive little huffs of pleasure and want from Cecil's lungs. He wasn't cruel, but he couldn't resist teasing him ever so slightly, fingers ever-so-lightly skimming over his chest and down his belly. Cecil groaned and rolled his body to meet the touch. Taking mercy on him, Earl slid his fingers down past the waistband of Cecil's boxer shorts and took his erection in hand. 

Cecil jolted as if he'd touched a live wire, a loud grunt escaping his throat as Earl began to stroke him, slowly and deliberately. His breath was coming in loud rasps and threw his head back, smacking it into the armrest with a painful _thunk._ His hands tightened into claws. 

"Aaah! Oh, Earl... Fuck me, please, fuck me fill me up oh Gods please please fuck me I need it so bad." 

Earl felt a blaze of cold heat course through his body. Cecil almost always wanted to top, but in May all bets were off. It was a good thing that he couldn't get pregnant, really, or Night Vale would have been overrun by Palmers. But as much as Earl ached to fuck him, he knew he couldn't take advantage -- not with Cecil so badly off.

"No, Cee, let me just help you put your brain back in your head, where it belongs. Then we'll talk."

He gripped him tightly and gave two more firm strokes, and Cecil yowled, hot sticky fluid gushing from him and onto Earl's hand. Instantly, his muscles relaxed, and he lay back onto the sofa cushions, quivering and spent. He was beautiful. Earl placed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you," Cecil breathed, eyes closed, calm for the moment. He was always more rational after he came. For a while, anyway, until the next wave came and dragged him under.

"It's okay. I'm... happy to help."

Cecil's eyes fluttered open, luminous white under silvery lashes. "You came back. You came back for me," he murmured, the tiniest hint of awe creeping into his voice.

Earl felt himself blush. "Oh, no, Cecil, I mean, yeah, I came back a little early 'cause I missed you but it's nothing, really."

Cecil smiled faintly. "Thanks. Oh, hey, was there a package out there for me? The delivery guy said he'd bring it over tonight."

"Cee, I don't think he was a real delivery man."

"Oh. Oh!" Cecil blushed. "Oh, well, that's too bad. I was hoping someone bought me that box set of 'The Wire' from my Wish List. Avon Barksdale, you know?" He shrugged, then looked Earl up and down. A brief flicker of lust passed over his features and was gone. "How were the Sand Wastes?"

"Ah, you know, sandy, lonely, dusty, hot, the usual."

"Well, it obviously suited you. You look great."

"Thanks. So do you." He meant it, too. Cecil was disheveled and exahausted-looking and somehow it was the sexiest thing Earl had ever seen. He shook his head. Things were slipping out of control again. "Hey, uh, why don't you grab a shower?"

"Depends. You gonna join me?" Cecil waggled his eyebrows.

"Cecil..." Earl sighed.

"Okay, okay, you made your point. I'm hideous and unappealing." He grunted and heaved himself off the couch, then stalked past Earl and into his tiny kitchen. Earl followed him, stricken and protesting, through the kitchen and into the bathroom, which was just on the other side. Cecil glared at him as he turned the knobs for the faucet and pulled the little tab to turn on the shower, then stripped nude, never breaking eye contact. 

Earl was the first to blink, glancing toward the covered mirror as steam built up in the cramped space. 

_Steam?_

"Cee, don't you usually turn off your water heater in May?"

"Usually. But a very nice gentleman from the Water Bureau came over and tested it out with me, and he said not to bother; it was just perfect. He said I was just perfect, too, not that you'd care." He stuck his tongue out at Earl and climbed beneath the pulsing stream of the shower. Earl tried to ignore the fact that Cecil was starting to get hard again. He sighed and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet seat.

"Cecil, you know that I care."

"No, I don't. I don't believe you. You don't care about me. No one does." Cecil's voice was petulant and small and sad.

"That's just not true, Cecil. I care... I more than care. You know how I feel about you. And I don't think you're hideous, and I don't think you're unappealing. I think you're handsome and sexy and incredible and I... I love you." 

The rings of the shower curtain shushed as Cecil poked his head out to stare at Earl, an incomprehensible look on his face. "Oh, yeah?"

Earl felt tears burn in his eyes. "Yeah."

"Then prove it."

"Cee --"

"Prove. It." He pulled the curtain the rest of the way back. He stood there like some sort of tattooed satyr, water running in diamond rivulets down his toned body, cock big, stiff, and hard between his legs. 

Earl said nothing, just stood there mutely as wet hands untied his kerchief, unbuttoned his shirt, undid his shorts. Then those same hands grasped his and pulled him under the steamy spray. 

Cecil's body was slippery and delicious against his, hands everywhere, across his chest, down his sides, over his own growing erection. Earl pulled him close and kissed him like his life depended on it. Cecil leaned into the kiss and sighed into his mouth, then grasped his wrists and brought his hands down to cup his ass. 

"Please, Earl," he whispered. "I need this."

"Yes." He looked around the shower, then picked up a bottle of conditioner. "Can we use...?"

Cecil frowned, puzzled. "Why would we? We can just use these." He reached into the shower caddy and produced a condom and a small bottle marked "Eros." 

"Why do you have condoms and lube in the shower?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Oh."

Cecil held him close and slowly rutted against him. "Don't think about that right now, Earl. Don't think about **them**. They're nothing. They're not important. Just you. I just want you."

Earl gasped, not so much at the friction of skin against skin (though that was very nice indeed), but at the friction of Cecil's words against his ears and against his heart. He bowed his head, a condemned man waiting for the kiss of the guillotine, as Cecil rolled the condom down over his dick, squeezed a large dollop of lubricant onto the tip, and turned around, arching his back and offering Earl his ass. For all his moral convictions and best intentions, it wasn't an offer he had the strength to resist. 

He took the bottle of lube from the shelf on which Cecil had set it, and slicked up his first two fingers. He chewed on his lower lip as he slid them inside Cecil, first one, then both. Cecil gasped and pushed back against the fingers, a low moan rumbling through his body. Earl thrust the fingers back and forth a few times, until Cecil loosed a cry of mingled desire and frustration. He didn't need to say a word. Earl knew what he wanted. He took his slender hips in his hands, then pressed inside.

It was wrong. It was a horrible idea. It was heaven. 

Cecil responded to the cock inside of him by impaling himself still deeper, wiggling and sighing.

"Oh, Earl, Earl, Earl, yeah, just like that. Fuck me, fuck me."

Earl breathed hard as he began to rock back and forth inside him, never fully pulling out before burying himself again. Cecil was hot and tight around him, producing sounds that were almost sobs as he met Earl's thrusts with his hips. Earl's eyes squeezed shut as he became overwhelmed with sensation.

Cecil was moving frantically now, and Earl felt his shoulders flex as he reached down to touch himself. Moments later, his body spasmed around Earl. Earl caught him as his knees buckled, getting in a last few desperate motions as his own orgasm exploded in his core. When he could move again, he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Cecil's neck. Cecil wriggled around to face him and kissed him again, deeply and properly.

"Stay with me, Earl?"

"For the night?"

"For the rest of the month. Please?"

Earl looked to the heavens for guidance, but there was nothing there but cracked plaster and black mold. He swallowed hard.

"Okay," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

_May 31, near midnight_  
Earl woke to a dark room and an empty bed. He stretched. Cecil was gone, but he wasn't worried. He hadn't been too far from the bedroom for the past week. Neither of them had. 

Everything had a muddled, twilight quality about it. Having both taken emergency leave from work, they no longer kept a schedule by any sort of clock other than the constantly overheating timer of Cecil's libido. They slept in short, hour-long bursts, ate finger foods when they had a moment (crumbs dropping between the sweaty sheets), gulped water when they remembered to do so. 

Earl was sore and weak and trembling. He felt awful, but it was a glorious kind of awful. He rolled over onto his stomach and pressed his face into the duvet. It smelled like Cecil and like himself and like their shared passion. If he could bottle that smell... Well, most likely no one would want it, because to be truthful they probably both kind of stunk, but he liked it anyway. 

He yawned. It had still been light out when he'd fallen asleep. It was strange that Cecil hadn't woken him sooner with a blowjob or with insistent fingers probing his ass. Maybe he'd finally fucked him properly, and they'd be able to get a full night of rest, but he wasn't counting on it. 

He heard the door open and close softly, then a whump of fabric on fabric and the feathery weight of Cecil settling onto his side of the bed. Earl grinned into the duvet, waiting for the first desperate kisses to fall along his neck and shoulders. 

No kisses came. 

He sat up, blinking in the gloom. Cecil had burrowed deep into a pile of blankets, so deep that Earl couldn't see any part of him, just a vague shape that shook and wriggled. He smirked.

"Playing with yourself, Cee? You're incorrigible." He peeled the layers of blankets off until he got to Cecil.

Cecil was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

"Oh my Gods, Babe, what's wrong?"

Cecil didn't answer for a long moment, and when he did, his answer wasn't an answer at all. 

"Please go, Earl."

"What? Why?"

"Just please please go. I want to be alone."

"Cee, are you mad at me? What did I do?"

Cecil took in another long, shuddering breath. "You didn't do anything. I just want to be alone. If you have to know, I don't like myself very much at the moment and can't stand the company."

Earl yelped a sad cry, then clutched Cecil tight. "Oh, Cee, you don't have anything to be ashamed of. None of this is your fault." Cecil snorted bitterly, and Earl kept going. "It isn't. It's biology. And I'm not complaining about the time we spent together, anyway. But I could be so much more for you. I could... I could take care of you in other ways. I want to."

Cecil pushed him away. "No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I misled you, but no. It would never work out."

"How do you know?"

"I know, Earl. Believe me. And, incidentally, you should be glad. I'd only ruin your life."

"Let me decide that. Let me love you."

Cecil fixed Earl with a look that was all razor blades and frostbite. "I can't do that, Earl. I love you, but I'll never love you like you need me to love you. Now please go." His lip began to quiver and the tears again sparkled in his moonstone eyes. He flushed and grimaced and quickly dove back into the blankets.

"Cecil, please come out. Please come out. Please?" Earl begged him until his throat was sore, but it was no use. Cecil refused to come out from his burrow or even acknowledge his presence. Resigned, Earl stood and got dressed. The third thing about being a Scoutmaster was knowing when to give the hell up.

His clothes felt strange and scratchy as he trudged out to his truck. The windshield was covered in parking tickets. Shit. He'd completely forgotten about the 24-hour parking limit, and he hadn't moved it in weeks. Oh, well, just another crappy thing in a long, long list of crappy things.

He sat behind the wheel for a moment and felt his heart snap in two, just as it had at the end of every May since he'd been 18. He heaved a lung-busting breath, then started the engine and put the pickup into gear. He drove past Big Rico's, past the truck with the sign that said "Accelion -- Laboratory Relocation Services," but he didn't notice it. He couldn't see through the tears in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story and want to howl at the void with me, come visit at punkrockgaia.tumblr.com and/or middle-aged-woman-josie.tumblr.com.


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